The Graves of Dodge
by Shellecah
Summary: "As I walked out on Laredo one day, I spied a poor cowboy wrapped in white linen, Wrapped in white linen as cold as the clay." -The Streets of Laredo, Duane Eddy A short winter tale from the objective point of view


Clouds like tattered winding sheets shrouded the afternoon sky over Dodge, and a moisture-laden gale blew icily, though snow had not fallen that winter. Sitting straight as a general on his pale-gray stallion, Ives Talon led the five riders to Grimmick's livery. With eyes like tins of ash fixed on his older brother's face, Randy Talon tensed in the saddle, his horse at the stallion's right side.

Ives dismounted first, and the other men followed. Moss appeared in the doorway and stood still, looking at each man in turn.

"Howdy," Ives said in his bass voice. "You gonna let us in, old timer?"

Moss moved aside. "Got a stall for every horse," he said.

"Much obliged," said Ives.

"You want that old heart to keep beatin', you best tend these horses good," one of the men said to Moss. Daley Soren by name, the man was tall and lean, with eyes like bottomless holes and wolfish features.

"I give horses in these stables the best care," said Moss. "None better anywhere."

The five men left the livery and headed for Front Street, the smallest man straggling in the rear. "Fairway," said Ives. "Tim sick again?"

"I think he has the grippe," said Saul Fairway, a solidly built man with gold-brown hair waving to his shoulders, a square angular face, and fiery eyes of a deep blue hue.

"You set this 'un out, Tim," Ives ordered.

"Yup," said Tim, his voice hoarse and nasally. The youngest man at twenty-six years, Tim Leeson had a slight frame on the shorter side of mid-range, a pale gaunt face, and large eyes rimmed by puffy blueish circles.

As the men approached the marshal's office, Ives waved Tim to a bench farther down the walk, drew his gun and crouched below the windows. Randy stooped down behind his brother, then Daley, with Fairway at the end.

Ives and Randy straightened up beside each other in front of the door, Randy turned the knob, and the four men walked in with drawn guns. Ives and Fairway trained their guns on Matt sitting at his desk, while Randy and Daley aimed at Chester, who sat at the table.

"Don't move," said Ives. "Put those hands up high." Matt and Chester slowly rose, their hands raised. Randy hurried to Matt, took his gun without looking up at him, and returned to Ives' side, while Daley moved to Chester.

"You ain't packin'," said Daley.

Not turning his head, Chester shifted his eyes to the marshal's face. Matt glanced at Chester and slightly shook his head.

"Ain't got no badge, neither," said Daley.

Jerking his head at Chester, Ives said to Matt, "He works for you."

"Jailkeep," said Matt.

"Uh huh," said Ives. "Well, he won't be keepin' you. The cells behind that door?"

"Yeah," said Matt.

"Open it," said Ives. Matt opened the door. Randy took the key from its hook on the wall, and opened one of the cells. "Get inside," said Ives.

"What about him?" said Matt, looking back at Chester.

"Get out," Ives said to Chester.

Daley raised his gun higher, leveling it at Chester. "We oughta kill him," said Daley, staring into Chester's eyes. "He'll run ahead of us and spread the word."

"So what," said Ives. "Dillon's the only lawman in this town. We can handle everyone else. We gonna make Dodge our headquarters, we need folks to cooperate. We only kill if need be.

"Get your tail outa here," Ives said to Chester. Chester lowered his arms, looking at Matt.

"Go on, Chester," said Matt.

"My coat," Chester said to Ives, who shrugged.

Chester limped to the door, put on his hat, opened the door and went out, closing it behind him.

 _"Hah,"_ Daley barked. "We don't haveta worry about _him_ runnin' ahead."

Matt stepped into the cell, and Randy locked the door.

"Keep ahold on your gun," Ives ordered his brother. "Don't set foot outside 'til one of us comes to spell you, and stay clear of them bars. He has a long reach." Randy nodded.

Outside, Chester saw Tim Leeson sitting on the bench, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

"You one of them, are ya?" Chester said, pointing his thumb at the office door.

Tim lifted his sickly face. "Mind your own business," he said.

Chester hurried to the rear of the jail, and rushed along the stretch of dirt between the buildings' back walls.

Ives, Fairway and Daley left the marshal's office, and gathered around Tim sitting on the bench.

"He can't fight," said Daley.

"Find the doctor, Fairway," said Ives. "Daley and I'll get rooms at Dodge House."

"Right," said Fairway. "Come on, Tim." Tim stood and shuffled beside Fairway, hanging his head.

Chester reached the Long Branch and entered through the back door. He passed Kitty at the end of the bar without speaking or tipping his hat, slapped his hands on the bar, and fought to get his breath.

"What's wrong, Chester?" said Kitty.

"I need your shotgun, Sam," Chester gasped. "They locked Mr. Dillon in the jail." Sam picked up the shotgun and handed it to Chester.

 _"Who,"_ said Kitty.

"The Talon gang," said Chester. "I recollect their pictures from the _Wanted_ circulars. Oh, good heavens." Chester tugged his hat brim at Kitty. "I gotta go," he said.

"Chester, you can't face down a gang of gunmen by yourself," said Kitty. "Get some men to go with you."

"There's jest one of 'em guardin' Mr. Dillon in the jail right now," said Chester. "I'll go through the side door and get the jump on 'im. The other four's outside somewheres."

"Be careful," said Kitty.

Ives Talon and Daley Soren paid for three rooms at Dodge House, then walked to the barber's for a bath and shave, while Fairway found Doc's office, and slowly climbed the stairs with Tim.

Doc rose from his desk when Fairway opened the door. "What can I do for you," said Doc.

"I think my friend has the grippe," said Fairway.

Tim took off his hat and inhaled noisily. His eyes rolled up, and he dropped his hat and crumpled. Fairway caught him before he hit the floor. "Put him over here," said Doc.

 _ **C~~~~**_

Chester pressed against the outside wall of the marshal's office and peered through the window. His boots crossed on the desk, Randy Talon sat in the chair and leaned back against the wall, his eyes closed and his mouth open. Chester moved to the side door, quietly turned the knob, and eased the door open. He tipped into the room.

As Chester raised the shotgun, Randy woke, leaped to his feet, and grabbed his gun. Chester sighted on Randy's chest and squeezed the trigger.

The shot cracked out, deafening in the room. Matt jumped up from where he sat on the bed in the jail cell. He took hold of the bars and pressed his face against them, straining to see through the doorway between the jail and the office as smoke drifted through the jail.

Randy stiffened, then collapsed against the desk and dropped his gun, his head hitting the wall with a loud thunk as he fell. Holding the shotgun in position, Chester leaned over Randy's body.

 _"Chester,"_ said Matt.

"I'll let ya out one second, Mr. Dillon," said Chester. "I haveta make sure he's dead." Blood spread in a widening puddle beneath the body. "He's dead," said Chester. He lifted the key from the hook and unlocked the cell.

Matt moved to Randy's body, stepping clear of the blood. The marshal gripped Randy's shoulder and turned the corpse over. Matt pulled his gun out of Randy's belt, holstered the gun, and went to the door. "We'll leave the body for now," Matt said.

"Your coat, Mr. Dillon," said Chester, as Matt put on his hat and opened the door.

"No," said Matt. "You see where the others went?"

"No sir. I hightailed it down the back way when Ives Talon told me to git out the office," said Chester. "One of 'em was settin' on the bench yonder when I come out. He looked too sick to stand in his boots, gunfightin' let alone."

Matt started down the walk.

"Where we gonna look for 'em, Mr. Dillon," said Chester, holding Sam's shotgun.

"Dodge House," said Matt.

 _ **D~~~~**_

Doc held smelling salts under Tim Leeson's nose. As Leeson woke out of his faint, Doc gave him a searching look, glanced at Fairway, turned his attention back to Tim, and shook his head. He gave Tim a tonic in a cup of hot brandy, and bound his neck in a steaming length of cotton soaked in vinegar. "You said you're at Dodge House?" Doc said to Fairway.

"Yes."

"Well, he needs to go to bed," said Doc. "He's fevered."

"This is the best hot toddy I ever did taste," Tim croaked. "It's a heap better'n whiskey."

Doc put the bottles of brandy, tonic, and vinegar, and a thick roll of cloth in a sack, and handed the sack to Fairway. "Just soup and rice porridge to eat," Doc instructed. "And no milk in the porridge."

 _ **M~~~~**_

Matt and Chester described the four outlaws to the desk clerk at Dodge House. "Well, I surely seen two of 'em," said the clerk. "One's a tall proud lookin' fellow, bigger than you, Marshal, though not so growed up as you. Has straw-colored hair and a cleft jaw, real fair skin, and light eyes no color at all, unless they're gray. The other one's a skinny fellow a coupla inches shorter, with a long pointy nose. Mean lookin' character."

"Did they say where they were going?" asked Matt.

"To the barber's for a bath and shave."

Ives and Daley left the barber's to go to Delmonico's, as Matt and Chester headed from Dodge House to the barbershop. Some moments later, Fairway settled Tim in bed at Dodge House, then walked to the barber's.

"They were both here alright, Marshal," the barber said to Matt. "The big fellow told the dark-haired one they were going to Delmonico's."

The door opened, and Fairway entered the shop. "I won't draw on a U.S. marshal," said Fairway. Mattt snatched Fairway's gun from its holster. Fairway hitched his pants and raised his jaw at Matt. "I saw that comin'," said Fairway. "I coulda shot you before your hand touched my gun butt. You need to watch that move, Marshal."

Matt opened his mouth and took a breath, looked intently into Fairway's dark-blue eyes, and hesitated. "What's your name," said Matt.

"Saul Fairway. I was stupid and greedy. Lazy, too. I'm watching for a way out without gettin' a bullet in the back."

"Why didn't you just ride away when no one was lookin'," said Matt.

"Ives Talon would track me down and have his brother Randy shoot me," said Fairway.

"Randy was the one guarding me in the jail?" said Matt.

"He dead?" said Fairway. "You do it?" he said to Chester.

"Never mind who did it," said Matt. "I'm responsible. The body's on the floor at the marshal's office."

"Ives will know he did it," said Fairway, inclining his head at Chester and looking at Matt. "You need to kill Ives."

"I am," said Matt.

"Good for you, Marshal," said the barber, twirling one end of his thick waxed mustache.

"Where's the sick one," said Matt.

"Dodge House. He ain't goin' nowhere. You got a good doctor in this town," said Fairway. "Nice fella."

Matt spoke to the barber. "Can you get some men to carry Randy Talon's body to the undertaker's?"

"Sure can, Marshal," said the barber. "I'll send my man with a pail of hot water and soap to scrub the blood off the floor. No charge."

"Lock Fairway up, Chester," said Matt. "I'm goin' after Ives and Soren. Don't take your hands off that shotgun, and don't leave the office 'til I get back."

The marshal stepped up close to Chester and looked into his eyes. Matt wrapped his fingers around the barrel of the shotgun Chester held. "If Talon or Soren come into the office, shoot them," said Matt.

"Yessir," said Chester.

"Who'll take care of Tim?" said Fairway.

"He won't be alone long," said Matt. "I'll get 'im from Dodge House and we'll tend him in jail.

"Chester," Matt said.

Chester gestured with the shotgun at Fairway, and the two of them headed to the marshal's office.

Matt walked to Delmonico's, pulled his gun, flattened his tall frame against the front wall of the restaurant, and looked through the window. Eating pie and drinking coffee, Ives and Daley sat by the window, at the table nearest the door. Matt clicked his gun hammer, opened the door, and stepped over the threshold.

Daley's back was to Matt, and the marshal pressed his gun barrel to the back of Daley's head. He froze, his eyes distended.

Ives jumped up and went for his gun as the diners ran across the room, scattering chairs. Matt shot Ives through the heart, and he fell on a table into two plates of turkey and mashed potatoes, then slid to the floor. The tablecloth, utensils and half-eaten plates of food slid with Ives' body, which came to rest belly-down in the mess.

Daley stood and drew his gun, his chair tipping back against Matt's legs. Daley started a pivot to face the marshal, and Matt slammed his gun into Daley's face. Daley staggered back against the table, his lupine features contorted, and with both hands leveled his gun at Matt.

Matt aimed for Daley's chest, but the angle was awkward, and the bullet pierced the outlaw's face, exiting through the back of his head. Two women screamed as the body crashed onto the table and lay like a heathenish dish of uncooked meat, the arms and legs dangling over the sides, the face a bloody pulp.

The diners ran to the door, crowding against one another. "Easy," said Matt, holstering his gun.

 _ **M~~~~**_

Clad only in his union suit, Tim Leeson lay in bed at Dodge House, his bony face tinted raw red. His gunbelt hung from the bedpost at the foot of the bed. Matt opened the door, entered the room, and stood looking at Tim. "I'm goin' to jail," Tim said in a hoarse whisper.

"That's right," said the marshal. He gathered Tim's clothes from the bureau top, and handed them to him.

"I can't," said Tim. Matt helped him dress, took his coat from the stand, buttoned him into the coat, and pulled his hat tight over his head, then picked up the sack containing the tonic, brandy, vinegar, and rolled cloth. "I can't make it," said Tim. Matt wrapped his arm around Tim and helped him off the bed.

"The rest of 'em in jail?" Tim asked, leaning on Matt as they walked down the stairs.

"Fairway's in jail," said Matt. "The other three are dead."

Tim was quiet a moment. "I didn't like none of 'em except Fairway. Jail's a ways," Tim said, as they went outside. He stopped walking. "I got to lay down," he said.

The marshal picked him up and kept walking. "It's not far," Matt said.

"I only ever shot one man," Tim confessed as Matt carried him. "He was ridin' shotgun on a stage we robbed six years ago," said Tim. "He drew a bead on me, so I had no choice. He fell off the stage and died.

"Fairway never shot no one," Tim continued. "Him and me was just backup. Ives and Randy and Daley done the killin'.

"It's my testimony for Fairway, so you can tell the judge," Tim said in a gravelly whisper. "He won't hang, then, right? Fairway won't hang?"

"He won't hang with your testimony," said the marshal. "You can testify to the judge yourself. He'll allow it."

Tim was briefly quiet, his breathing stertorous. "Wish from the start I'd gone straight," he said.

When Matt entered the marshal's office with Tim in his arms, Chester rose from his chair, took the sack from Matt, set it on the table, and lifted the jail key from its hook. Fairway sat on the bed in one cell, and Chester opened the other cell door.

"They're dead." The marshal looked at Fairway.

"It's a relief," Fairway said. "Me and Tim facing prison time howsoever."

 _ **M~~~~**_

Matt sipped the steaming apple cider with a cinnamon stick floating in the mug, and puckered his mouth.

"It's a nice change for winter, don't you think?" Kitty said brightly.

"Tastes mighty pale to me," said the marshal. "Needs a whiskey shot." He sat with Chester, Doc and Kitty at the Long Branch.

"This is healthier," said Kitty.

"I'm gettin' too many stewed apples for my health as it is," said Matt. "Ma Smalley serves 'em breakfast and dinner, and we have three jars at the office."

"The cider's right good, Miss Kitty," said Chester. "Takes the chill outa my bones."

"Good swig of brandy will do that for you," said Doc. "Not that I'm complaining. It's nice to have something hot besides coffee.

"I didn't know those two fellas come to my office were outlaws. Wouldn't made any difference, 'cept I'd tried to get word to you, Matt. A sick man comes to me for help, I help 'im," Doc said. He paused, then added quietly, "Shame I can't do anything much for that one."

Doc drank a mouthful of cider. "I was some surprised to hear of it, tell you the truth," he said. "I maybe figured Fairway for a lawman who turned in his badge."

"Well, I'm glad none of 'em showed up here," said Kitty.

"And they won't," said Matt. "Fairway and Leeson are all that's left of the Talon gang, and they have a date with the judge."

"What are you looking at, Chester," said Kitty. The saloon lamplight reflected soft flickers in her blue eyes, faint lines crinkling at their corners as she gazed at her friend.

"It's snowin'," said Chester, gazing over the batwings at Front Street. Matt, Doc and Kitty looked at the bountiful snowfall driven at a slant on the wind.

The bodies of Daley Soren, Ives and Randy Talon lay in the undertaker's ice house until the spring thaw softened the earth. Despite Doc's treatment, and tending from Chester and Matt, Tim Leeson's throat swelled shut. Tim suffocated to death in the Dodge jail as Fairway slept in the other cell, Matt walked the night rounds with his boots crunching the snow, and Chester drank beer while chatting with Kitty at the Long Branch.

Saul Fairway never served a day in prison. The judge pardoned Fairway on condition that he sign a sovereign writ swearing to become a parson. He changed his name to Paul.


End file.
